Another Auld Lang Syne
by GeekMom
Summary: A/U For years, he thought she was dead. Murdered - he had been a suspect. He loved her. He mourned her, but the problem was that that person didn't even exist. The Castle characters aren't mine, but I raise my glass in Auld Lang Syne to Marlowe and company.
1. Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot

_A/N - Hello Dear Readers!_

 _Long time, no see - I know. I miss this community and after a Twitter poll, I decided to publish this new story. As for the others, first - let me say that I've been writing, both Fan Fiction and other projects. I've about 20 thousand words for my in progress stories, but none that I am happy about publishing yet. Second - this was begun as a project for the 2016 Castle Tumblr Secret Santa. My recipient was beckettcastlealways41319 on Tumblr and she asked for a story._

 _I hope you all enjoy this and I promise to post on my others as soon as I can._

 _~GeekMom_

* * *

 _Should Old Acquaintance be forgot,_  
 _and never thought upon;_  
 _The flames of Love extinguished,_  
 _and fully past and gone:_  
 _Is thy sweet Heart now grown so cold,_  
 _that loving Breast of thine;_  
 _That thou canst never once reflect_  
 _On old long syne._

 _CHORUS:_

 _On old long syne my Jo,_  
 _On old long syne,_  
 _That thou canst never once reflect,_  
 _On old long syne._

 _Robert Burns 1788_

* * *

 **Another Auld Lang Syne**

 **Chapter 1**

 **Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot**

* * *

Detective Kate Beckett sat at her desk and stared at the small slip of paper in her hands, mindlessly and repeatedly sticking and unsticking her forefinger to the thin strip at the top of the back of the square. Ryan had stuck the sticky note to her computer screen while she had been in the ladies' room. They hadn't caught a body all day so naturally the call came just after Beckett had excused herself, twenty minutes before the shift end to freshen up before making the trek home.

"Beckett? You still here?"

She startled at her captain's deep voice booming throughout the mostly deserted room.

Licking her lips and inhaling the strength she knew she'd need, she stood. "Sir? Have you heard anything about this?" She waved the lime green square in front of her.

"Other than there's been a murder at that bar?" He shook his head. "Nope, just prelims." Narrowing his eyes, he asked, "Why're you still here? Are you feeling okay?"

Finally exhaling, she shook no, but contradictorily confirmed, "I'm all right." She turned back to her desk and busied herself getting ready to go, gathering her bag, and securing her gun to her hip. She knew he was still watching her as she inhaled again, hoping for that one steadying breath that would convince her that she could go, the one that would give her strength if it turned out to be him.

"Do you know anything about the victim?" Carefully, she kept her eyes on her preparations.

She heard Montgomery walk away, but then return, rustling some paper in his notebook. Her captain was old school, always wanting to write everything down. "Male, cauc, about forty. Says he might work at the bar…or worked there, maybe, but no ID yet. Initial responding unis figure a robbery, but it might not be," he paused, tilting his head, assessing her, "you know how it goes."

She'd stopped listening. 'Male, Caucasian, forty,' kept running through her mind. Over and over tracks like a runaway train, noisy, fast and out of control.

"Beckett." All of a sudden Montgomery was holding her elbow. She didn't know how long he'd been trying to get her attention, but at that point, he wore his concern on his face. "What's going on?"

"I…" she swallowed, "I may have known the victim."

"We don't have a name. Don't jump to any conclusions," he warned, raising a knowing eyebrow. "Get down there and work the case. If it turns out you do…or did know him, then you can recuse, if not, do your job." Montgomery spun on his heel and retreated to his office, shutting his door, literally leaving her no opening for argument.

Kate grabbed her coat and headed to the elevator outwardly optimistic, but her inner doubts and fears churned.

* * *

"Beckett?" Ryan called as she entered the door, shaking the snow from her hat and coat. She inhaled and closed her eyes. The main room had always smelled the same way: of beer, slightly musty and something else she could never identify, but always gave her a blossom of warmth inside her chest. The room's owner theatrically called it the aroma of history. History and memories. They say that a smell can bring you right back to the moment. She almost grinned as she recalled his indignant and proud defense of the old place that had worn so many façades over the years, but the thought of the owner sobered her immediately. She made eye contact with one of her partners, acknowledging his initial question.

"Ryan, what do we have?"

"I was afraid you hadn't seen my note."

"No, I did," she confirmed while glancing around the familiar bar, looking for the victim. "Fill me in."

"Sure," Ryan began as he turned and headed toward the back. "White, male, forty-ish – our best guess - found in the freezer…"

"The freezer…" Kate mused as she stepped up to the walk-in. The last time she was there was right after the run-down place was purchased. The new owner had obviously made improvements and upgrades. The freezer was newer along with the rest of the kitchen and she had noticed the remodeling and redecorating out front as well. New bar, new seating, and lighting, but maybe they weren't that new. It had been several years since she'd seen it.

"Yep," Lanie Parrish said, standing from the corpse and rubbing her blue-gloved hands together. "Which means it will take a while for an ID. She walked away from the open door, shivering slightly.

"The, uh owner? Is…"

Lanie considered her ordinarily articulate friend. "Is it the owner? Is that your question?" She glanced back to the open door where technicians from CSI were photographing the crime scene. "I guess it could be."

"Nah Chica," Esposito said as he shrugged his head to the bar. "He just got here."

Kate swung her head so fast that she might have suffered whiplash, had it not been for the relief that overwhelmed her. She exhaled, loudly, garnering concern from her two partners and the medical examiner. There he was, healthy - alive, speaking to uniforms. She stared at him and somewhere between relief and belief, she swayed.

"Kate?"

She shook her head. "I'm…oh God…"

At that point Lanie escorted her to a chair. "Spill it."

Beckett scowled and then glanced at the bar, confirming his continued existence yet again; she searched the three pairs of concerned eyes surrounding her. "I just…I thought that the victim might have been the owner."

"So?" Espo questioned.

"So…shit." She placed her head in her hands and then looked up at them. "Do you remember that I used to work vice?" At three head nods, she continued. "I worked undercover around this neighborhood and I got to know some of the locals…that's all."

"That's all?" Lanie asked, doubtfully.

"Yeah…that's..."

A voice called from across the room. "Detectives?"

Kate closed her eyes. The familiar pattern of his footsteps across the worn floorboards still incited the riot of giddiness she'd always felt in anticipation of seeing him, as if no time had passed at all.

"I'm Richard Castle. I own..." He stopped dead in his tracks. "It can't…" A look of confusion darkened his expression. "Charlotte?" he whispered?

Kate stood up and looked into the blue eyes, daring to dive back in to where she should never have fallen in the first place, so many years ago. The same blue eyes she fought to protect and then, ultimately, however unenthusiastically, forget.

"Oh my God! Charlie…God, they told me you were…I looked…I searched…I didn't believe them."

She took a breath to steady and remind herself that that was then. "Rick," she acknowledged.

"Jesus," he said as he took a halting step closer. "Is it…is it really you?" He squinted as he catalogued and inspected her face and body, marking off a mental checklist. He blinked and swallowed as he convinced his skeptical eyes that he'd authenticated the ghostly vision in front of him.

Before she knew it he had grabbed her wrist and roughly pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly on her mouth. The world around them evaporated. Noises, smells, sights ceased just as they had always done every time he had kissed her before. Charlotte, his Charlie – every time he kissed the woman he knew as Charlotte, but she wasn't his Charlie, not anymore, she was Detective Kate Beckett. She pushed back on his chest, separating them enough, but not far enough that she failed to notice that he hadn't changed his cologne, that his eyes still became even more luminous by the threat of unshed tears, and that she'd hurt him, truly, whether it was her fault or not. Beckett felt the hands of her partners on her arms, trying to put more distance between them, protecting her. All she could think was that of the two of them, he was the one who needed distance from her.

She cleared her throat. "Rick, I'm…"

"God, please don't say you're sorry," he pled. She looked up to see the temper flare that she knew he could summon, in his expression. He held it at bay, but it simmered in his eyes.

"I'm not Charlotte," she said. He narrowed his eyes, his jaw muscles worked to keep a retort escaping his lips, but he waited without a sound for her to continue along with her three coworkers. "I _am_ sorry that I could never tell you the truth." She paused before she continued, because it was only polite to do so when disproving something that someone knew to be fact, so completely. It was only polite to take it easy when destroying a person's perception especially when he had already seen a ghost that day. "My name is Detective Kate Beckett, I'm a cop, now with the twelfth precinct, homicide, but when you knew me, I was working vice. I'm so sorry, Rick."

He stared at her, searched her face, her eyes for some tell that it was all some elaborate joke. Like the poker player he was, he scrutinized the three people around her for a tell. They were all staring at her. Apparently he wasn't the only one in the dark. He'd thought she was dead. He'd believed she'd been murdered by her pimp.

"But you were dead. There was an investigation." He raised his eyes and his voice, "I was a suspect. There was a fucking funeral." He came back to her so quickly the action alarmed her partners. Swallowing, he raised his hands from her upper arms, but he whispered, "God, Charlie…Kate, I guess, I loved you. I…I mourned you. How? How could you …Why didn't…?"

He dropped his jaw to his chest and shook his head. He raised his eyes to look at her again for what seemed like hours, but then unexpectedly, he spun and strode to the back of the room. "Brian!" he hollered for his bartender over his shoulder.

Brian and the cocktail waitresses craned their necks forward, gawkily trying to appear as if they hadn't been eavesdropping, but hearing everything regardless.

"Yeah, Boss," the young man, answered.

"I'll be in the office if any of New York's finest needs any more information." He reached down and clicked a switch, revealing a staircase. He looked directly at Kate. "I trust you'll let me get on with my business as soon as possible?" Without waiting for an answer, he nodded to Brian. "We'll need an inventory as soon as you can. We don't know who the dead guy is in our freezer, so I can only surmise that he was here to rob the place." He descended the staircase without a backward glance toward the murder victim, his employees, the detectives or her.


	2. Extinguished, Fully Past, and Gone

_**A/N - Thank you all very much for the warm and encouraging reception for this A/U. As always, you are wonderful. You've set a record: my stories generally get around 20 to 25 reviews and comments per chapter, but the first chapter for this universe garnered 64. I'm just...wow.**_

 _ **Thanks and enjoy!**_

 _ **~GeekMom**_

* * *

 **Another Auld Lang Syne**

 **Chapter 2**

 **Extinguished, Fully Past, and Gone**

Stopping at the top of the steps and gripping the handrail, Rick let the slam of his door reverberate through the old speakeasy as he inhaled, trembling. He felt the shroud of silence drape over him and had never been more grateful for its protection and concealment. The room had indeed played host to a multitude of nefarious activities, which is why it sported soundproofing that would mask a nuclear blast. Well, maybe not a nuclear blast, but gunfire, most definitely, and certainly ghosts.

He stepped down into the darkness, not bothering to light the brass reproduction gas lamps along the staircase wall, nor the Tiffany lamp on his desk. He went straight to his private bar and took out a bottle of bourbon. Hesitating for only a second, he wiped the dust from the neck and poured a glass, sighed, and walked to his chair, taking the bottle with him. He sat it and the glass on his desk and stared at the darkness lurking within the amber liquid. His mind noting the difference in color in the absence of light, like the grayness of the otherwise vivid world in the dead of night. He pushed the curious side of his brain back down. He no longer indulged its fantasies of magic and love.

Reaching, he turned the lamp key gently, the antique Tiffany lamp was another relic and reminder of the place he so loved because of its history. He never lit it anymore, preferring the brighter, cheaper lights while working, no matter how harsh. The soft light cast muted colored shadows onto the walls through the stained glass shade, and brought the alcohol to life, making it even more inviting. He licked his lips like a predator about to catch its prey, but became distracted: his eyes turned from the glass and instead focused on the only pictures he kept on his desk here, now illuminated by the soft incandescent glow through the colored glass and his heart softened. The photograph of her face was almost as lovely in the kaleidoscopic patterns as it had been in person. He had pictures of his daughter and mother on his desk at home, but the old mahogany desk would only ever hold the reliquary he created of her, of them. This was their place. They met here. They found each other here. And he lost her here and then he lost himself. He grabbed the frame and brought it closer to his face in the low light to examine the photo once again. She looked over his shoulder, a hint of a smile on her lips and delight in her eyes. The same low light which cast the shadows now, illuminated her: she glowed. His hair was tussled, but he knew why. They had just made love. Rick hesitantly permitted the memories he normally kept locked up tight: let them out of the strongbox that his heart had become.

* * *

Six and a half years ago, she walked into the bar and caught the attention of nearly every man present including himself. Demanded it, really. Charlotte had tried her best to look cheap; to look like a good time which could be bought for the right price, but no matter the fake eyelashes or too much rouge or tattered, slinky too-short dresses, she looked out of place. There was intelligence and cunning behind those beautiful honeyed brown eyes that he'd discovered were flecked with green and gold. They noted everything and everyone around her.

He'd never seen her in there before that night, but that wasn't unusual. Every once in a while, women and men in her profession would wander inside looking for relief from the cold or be drawn to what he liked to call the old bar's allure, character, and sense of belonging it extended to its patrons. The ghosts of the place's past nefarious incarnations would always embrace the city's wayfarers and wanderers who only looked for hospitality, a sense of being in the right place, if only for an evening's worth of respite from their lives and livings, and an opportunity to forget their troubles and trials.

Generally, he would quietly and politely ask if they'd like a drink and something to eat, on the house, before they could begin to ply their trade inside the tavern. Just because the bar had once been a brothel, didn't mean he had to abide the profession now. He could lose his license and with a daughter to provide for, he couldn't afford it. His business dealings had always been legitimate if not always successful, despite his many notorious acquaintances.

As was his custom, he had given Charlotte a meal and a drink the first time she'd appeared at the end of the bar, coolly surveying his clientele. She ordered a salad and a club soda.

Castle slammed his eyes shut against the memories before it would hurt too much for him to cope, to remain strong.

* * *

She closed her eyes and shut out the world and the memories. The guilt. Breathing deeply, she clenched the steering wheel of her cruiser. She'd cut the boys loose to canvass and told them she'd meet them back at the twelfth with the promise that she was all right.

Someone insistently knocked on her window and stupidly, childishly she hoped he had emerged from the basement office, his anger dissipated with him ready to forgive and forget.

"What was that about?"

Kate sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She reached over and put the window down. "Lanie," she greeted apathetically. "Don't you have a corpse to examine?"

Her best friend raised an eyebrow. "Apparently, I'm looking at one now."

"Undercover. I was just undercover."

"Oh no, girlfriend. You're not just undercover when a civilian says he loved you. When that same civilian, a cool drink of water, by the way, says he mourned your _fake_ death." Lanie could never hide her true feelings. The incredulousness in her tone was clear. "Come on Kate: spill."

"Okay, but not here." Her eyes darted to the sunken entrance to the bar, now draped with crime scene tape. She wasn't sure if she was hoping he'd come out or hoping he wouldn't. Turning the key dangling from her ignition, she ensured a postponement of Lanie's interrogation.

"Fine," the medical examiner agreed petulantly, "but don't think I will forget or let you off the hook. We're having a girl's night. You pick the place."

"I really don't feel like going out. How about my place? I'll order in and you bring the wine?"

"I'll bring two: I don't think this will be a one bottle story."

Kate mustered a half of a smile, nodded, and pulled into traffic.

* * *

"I'm Rick and I own the place," he said as he sidled up next to her.

"I'm not interested."

He raised an eyebrow. It had been his experience that they were always interested. He slid onto the stool next to her, folded his hands, and inhaled and exhaled slowly. "Look, I've got no problem, no judgments. I just can't lose my license. I have obligations."

"What are you implying?"

He scoffed. "I'd really rather not play games. I'd like to buy you dinner and then ask you, nicely, without any fuss, to fish elsewhere."

She turned on the bar stool to face him and fixed him with a glare that he was sure had withered men before. The thought that maybe she was not just a call girl flitted across his mind along with safe words and fuzzy handcuffs. The thought of this woman with handcuffs seemed veracious: justifiable in his mind.

He watched her head whip up to turn toward him in the mirror behind the bar. "What?" she asked sharply.

"I, um, I didn't say anything else."

"You said apples."

He swallowed; realizing he had said that aloud, damn it. "Sorry, just going over my grocery list…multi-tasking… you know?" He rubbed his hands in concert and smacked his lips together tightly. After another full minute of silence, he prompted, "So, do you want something to eat?"

"I could eat," she allowed. "Does this crummy place have anything besides stale popcorn and over-salted pretzels?"

"We have a modest and select, but diverse tasty menu," he retorted indignantly as he unobtrusively pushed the basket of pretzels further down the bar.

The woman leaned and reached in front of him, snagging the basket, the front of her dress brushing his chest in the narrow space between and the bar, leaving the scent of cherries in her wake.

She plucked a pretzel from the basket and lifted it to her lips. A hint of pink tongue emerged and licked the salted treat before she popped it into her mouth.

Rick forgot how to breath. And then he remembered all at once. He sucked in air greedily. The woman smiled wickedly. She knew exactly what she did.

"God," he whispered and wiped the sweat, real or imaginary from his upper lip. He stood. "Um, just let us know what you want…from the menu," he added hastily when she grinned.

"Charlotte," she called at his fleeing back.

Rick turned. "My name is Charlotte. My friends call me Charlie and I'll have a salad and club soda, please Rick."

A smile spread slowly across his face. "You've got it, Charlie. Welcome to The Old Haunt."

* * *

He put down the photo and reached for the glass. His hand trembled as he sat it back down on the blotter. After closing his eyes and breathing for a moment, he pulled out his phone. A picture of Alexis graced the lock screen. He absently rubbed it with his thumb. She was his reason for holding on, for coming back. He swiped the screen and jabbed the second name on his favorites list.

The phone rang twice before he heard the familiar voice on the line.

"Rick? It's been awhile. How are you doing?"

Rick gathered his thoughts, his strength, but still felt like he was sliding, failing.

"Son? Is everything okay?"

He swallowed and licked his lips as he stared at the bourbon in the glass. Exhaling, he admitted, "No."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in my office. I…I've had…well the day has been pretty bad." A scathing chuckle retched from him.

"Is anyone with you?"

"Brian is upstairs."

"Do you want a drink?"

"That's why I'm fucking calling," he blasted. He closed his eyes. "Jesus, I'm sorry. I just…"

"I know."

"I don't think I'll make it through the night."

"How many years?" his sponsor asked, already knowing the answer.

"Fuck."

"Rick, you're strong enough to turn away. Hang on."

Castle stared at the glass as he heard the door slam and then street noises. He heard the man call, 'Taxi!' and then a slamming of a car door. He heard the bar's address rattled off.

"I'm on my way," he said. "Fifteen minutes. You can do this. You did it before. Think of your daughter."

He did, but Charlie's face kept swimming in front, pushing Alexis aside: obscuring his sight and resolve. Desperation finally leaked out onto his cheeks and all he wanted was to dull the pain. Just a little. Enough to make it through the rest of the day.

"Are you still with me?"

"Yeah…yeah, I'll meet you in the bar."

"Yeah that's good. Go up with people."

A gunshot of laughter erupted from Rick. "Bar's closed today. Some guy was apparently robbing the place and got himself killed in my freezer. Be careful of the crime scene tape when you get here."

"That sounds like a bad day." His breathing eased as he heard the younger man trudging up the steps he knew would take him back to the main floor.

"Jim, you don't know the half of it."


	3. And Never Thought Upon

_**A/N - Thank you all for your reviews and comments. Fair warning: this one is rough, but stick with me, I promise it will get better.**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

 _ **~GeekMom**_

* * *

 **Another Auld Lang Syne**

 **Chapter 3**

 **And Never Thought Upon**

Kate opened up her apartment door and stepped inside. She kicked off her heels, relishing the coolness of the floorboards under her bared feet. She backed up and pushed the door closed with her behind and just leaned against the solidness, letting it support her for a moment.

Every time she had closed her eyes that day, his face popped up. She had noted that he looked older, more worn by life and less carefree. Yes, it had been five years since she saw him. That wasn't exactly true; she had seen him, parked down the street from the bar around closing time whenever her guilt got the better of her and she had to make sure he was all right, breathing and that she had made the right choice. He had moved on with his life and was better off thinking she was gone. She'd accepted that scenario when her alter ego, Charlie, had died.

She dragged the scarf from around her neck and hung her jacket on the back of a chair to dry out. Winter was back with a vengeance.

She pulled out her phone and pushed Lanie's contact.

"Hey," she answered.

"I'm on my way," Lanie said.

"Yeah," she sighed. "Is Chinese okay?"

"That's fine. Are you okay?"

"No, but it will be good to talk. See you in a while?"

"Okay."

She hung up and was about to put her phone away, but then spontaneously pushed her father's icon. There had been a time in her life when she did not have that option and was thankful to be able to talk to him whenever she wanted or needed to again.

"Katie?"

"Hi Dad."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah…well, no. I had a rough day."

"I guess that's going around."

"What…"

"Not me. A friend is having a hard time. I'm headed to his place now."

"A friend?"

"Someone I sponsor."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Are they…"

"You know I can't talk about the people I sponsor. What can I do for you?"

"Um, nothing...I just wanted to hear your voice."

She heard him sigh, torn between helping his daughter and helping his sponsee. "Are you sure, Katie? I could come by after…"

"No Dad, of course I'll be okay," she reassured. She understood what his supporting people who had been in his boat meant to him. She knew it was a way he gave back to the community which ultimately had helped him when he needed it most. "If you're headed somewhere to meet someone, they must need your help. That's more important than my bad day. It's okay, Dad; just a rough case. Lanie is coming for dinner, so I won't be alone. Just call when you can. Maybe we can grab lunch this week," she ended brightly.

"Okay. It is important, Honey." He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I truly believe he's in danger of stumbling tonight and he's made such great progress over that last couple of years. I don't want to see him fall. I don't know if I can help, but I have to try. I love you, Katie, and thanks for understanding. I'll call you as soon as I can."

* * *

Jim Beckett ended the call just as the cab pulled up to the bar. He could never understand how Rick could be so strong in and around the place. So much temptation and a million reminders, but then Rick asked how he could still live in the home he made with his wife. Jim had conceded the point. Rick had surprised him with his commitment and strength on many occasions previously. He'd said that being in his bar helped him stare down his demons and their memories and also reminded him of everything he could lose. He'd been resolute, but unsteady when he walked into his first meeting three years prior, clutching a picture of his daughter. He had needed a friend.

Jim had been making coffee in the beat-up urn in the basement of the church where they held their meetings when the man had timidly touched his arm. He turned and recognized the guise presented by the man standing next to him. He'd done his best to clean up and look presentable, but Jim saw the sunken, deflated look, the red-rimmed, but wide eyes, the almost translucent skin, the slight tremor in his hands. His hair was too long and shaggy, as if it hadn't been properly cut in a while. He had clean clothes on, even if they hung too big on his body as if he'd raided his dad's closet. Jim correctly assumed that he was not homeless and indeed had someone who had taken care of him. Someone who most likely had had enough, much the same way his own daughter had finally had enough and refused to have any contact with him until he could honestly claim persistent sobriety. It had taken Jim a few attempts, but he'd been sober for several years. He made no mistake and never permitted himself to get less than vigilant. His demons were always in close proximity.

The man was probably in his mid-thirties although the ravages of the addiction left him looking much older. Jim had learned to shave a few years off his first impression.

"Is that coffee for anyone?" he asked timidly. His voice was raspy, either from overuse, disuse, or abuse.

"Sure, sure," Jim said as he reached for a cup. "There's cream in the fridge. You're a little early, so I haven't gotten it out yet."

The man immediately withdrew and Jim mentally kicked himself as he watched him back towards the door. "I…I'm sorry. I probably should just go. Come back when you're set up."

"No, please that's not what I meant. I'll get the cream out. You're absolutely in the right place at the right time." He had no doubt that this man needed support. "I'm Jim," he said as he held out his hand.

"Rick," he replied as he shook Jim's outstretched hand, but then frowned. "Unless you're not supposed to give your real name."

Jim smiled warmly. "No, your real name is perfect." He gently guided the younger man by the shoulder. "Come on, let's get you that cream."

* * *

Rick hadn't been kidding about the crime scene tape and he had to give a lengthy justification to the pair of overly-enthusiastic cops at the entrance. But finally, after showing his ID, was granted access.

He closed the door and stomped off the snow that clung to his coat and shoes in the vestibule, while he scanned the bar area for any sign of Rick. Walking beside the highly polished bar, he spotted Brian, the head bartender speaking softly to Rachel, a waitress at the end. Jim knew the longtime staff held an affinity and concern for their employer that was a rarity in the often-brief young workers who gravitated to successful bars because of the good tips. Rick had always been good to his staff and had taken the time to apologize to each of them once he'd gotten sober. He'd always treated them as his extended family. He had even matched half of Rachel's tuition costs and supplied the venue, food, and spirits for Brian's wedding reception as well as helping numerous others in his employ.

In return, they were protective of the 'Boss,' as they teasingly dubbed him. (He preferred Rick.) He'd made a family in the warmth of the old bar; a place where people could come and be genially welcomed, even when the rest of the world had turned its back and things seemed grim, they could always find a sympathetic ear and a sense of belonging there.

"Brian," Jim greeted as he waved to Rachel who had left the bar area. "Heard you had some excitement."

Brian, the normally buoyant, wise-cracking, and talented man inhaled resignedly. He'd been with Rick since he'd rescued the old speakeasy from a corporation hell, the likes of which were akin to the Chuck E. Cheese of tavern establishments. Rick had sunk everything he had saved into the bar and in the process, had earned Brian's trust, loyalty, and his friendship.

"Hey Jim," he replied, "Yeah, it's been a hell of a day. Could be worse though: could've been one of us in the freezer." He shook his head. "I don't think I'm going to lose that sight anytime soon."

"You found the guy?"

"Yeah. Rick had a thing at school this morning, so he asked me to open up."

"Do they know what happened?"

"They think he was robbing the place and got locked in there. I hope it does turn out to be insta-karma because if someone used our freezer to kill a guy…" He let the rest of the thought drop and shivered at the thought. "Well…"

"Where's Rick?" Jim asked while searching the bar.

"He's good, Brian. I'm headed home," Rachel called from the back.

"I'll call and let you know if you shouldn't come in tomorrow." Brian inhaled and then pressed his lips together, turning his attention back to Jim. "He's in his booth." Brian nodded toward the back of the bar where Rachel had been. He leaned forward. "He ever tell you about Charlotte?"

Jim raised his eyebrows. Charlotte's disappearance and reported death and how it had affected Rick had been a major contributing factor to his alcoholism.

"Um, yeah." Brian shook his head angrily, but kept his voice low. "She waltzed in here today, very alive. It was all a lie. She's some cop. Some kind of bitch if you ask …"

"No one asked you for your opinion, Brian." Rick's cold tone iced over the two men as surely as the freezer had iced the dead guy.

"Sorry, Boss. I just hate to see you…"

Rick hung his head. "I know. I…why don't you just call it a day. Take Lucy out for dinner tonight." He pulled some cash from his wallet. "On me."

"Rick…"

He waved away his protest. "Least I can do for the guy who found a body to start his workday. Get out of here."

Brian took off his apron and stowed it behind the bar. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, we should be good to open then. We'll either get a boost from the city's creepers because of the publicity or we'll be dead because it's just too damn creepy."

The bartender grinned. "Yeah…okay, good night, or afternoon, I guess," he finished awkwardly. He headed toward the door while slinging his coat off the rack.

"Brian?" Rick called and the man turned to look at him. "Sorry for snapping. Have a good night."

Brian offered his boss and mentor a smile. Concern colored it as he wrapped his scarf around his neck and he came to a silent understanding with Jim Beckett to take care of their mutual friend. Jim nodded once, promising him silently.

"Sorry about that, Jim," Rick said reaching behind the bar for a couple of bottles of Coke.

"That's okay and completely understandable under the circumstances."

Rick eyed his friend as he twisted the caps off, handing a bottle to Jim, sinking onto the stool next to his.

"How are you doing?"

Rick blew out a dark chuckle. "I want a drink." He reached with the bottle and clinked it against Jim's.

Clasping the other man's shoulder, Jim nodded and agreed, "I know what you mean." He watched Rick's eyes scan the shelves behind the bar. "Do you have to stay? I mean for the cops?"

"No, Crockett and Tubbs have it covered out there, but I don't want to go home either."

Jim shook his head and set the soda aside. "I was thinking of getting some coffee. Any place good around here?"

"Yeah," Rick acknowledged. "Let me get my coat and lock up."

* * *

"Mu Shu or Egg Fu Yung?" Kate asked from the kitchen.

"A little of both," came her friend's unsurprising reply. "Stop stalling and get in here."

Lanie had already poured the burgundy wine she'd brought, kicked off her shoes, and had tucked her legs under her on the couch, completely ready for a chat. Impatiently, she bit her tongue knowing her friend would begin speaking when she was ready and no amount of prodding would change that. They were opposites that way. She tended to over, well, way over share and Kate kept things close to the vest, almost secretive.

"Thank you," Lanie said as Kate handed her a plate and with as much restraint as she could muster, she added, "Now spill."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "I haven't even sat down yet," she carped.

Lanie pursed her lips and shook her head. "Nuh uh. No more stalling. Sit your butt down and tell me about mister dreamy bar guy."

Pursing her own lips, Kate asked, "the corpse?" She stuck out her tongue which was met by a rolling of her friend's eyes and a nearly silent scoff. Sighing, she realized that the teasing had ended almost as quickly as it began and she would have to delve back into those memories. Most were pleasant, but some, like the look on his face in the photo after he'd been released from questioning, much like today's just before he disappeared to his office, left an indelible dark ink splotch on her mind as if she had her very own guilt-riddled, private Rorschach Test.

"I worked with vice. I was a patrol officer and because of…" she paused, grimaced and shook her head.

"Your looks," Lanie finished.

"Yeah," Kate answered through a sigh. "Because of that, I was given the chance to work undercover along with homicide detectives. Someone had been assaulting the women…a client or as it turned out, there was a group of three men with mob connections who thought they could get away with anything. It had escalated to the murders of two women just before the operation was initiated."

"Sweetie, that's so dangerous. I take it you caught the guys?"

"Not right away, but I had been made, so the captain faked Charlotte's abduction and subsequent death. I didn't even know about it, to keep it authentic and to keep the original undercover in place, he brought in another squad to investigate. I didn't find out until later that Castle had been a suspect."

"You skipped a bit."

"What do you mean?"

Lanie's eyes bugged out. "What do _I_ mean?" She rolled her eyes. "The man _said_ that he loved you _and_ that he mourned you."

"He loved Charlie and mourned her."

"Kate."

Beckett sighed and held her glass up to her friend who obliged, refilling it with the dark red. After she took a sip, she softly smiled as she explored her memories, like opening a chest that held all of the mementoes and letters from your first real love affair, which had been tucked away in an attic, out of sight and safely out of mind.

"He was so kind. I was dressed…well let's just say my father would have had a fit. I was made to look the part. I went into the bar to canvass the patrons and staff. I was ordered there, but thought it would be a waste of time. He ran a good, above board place, but Rick had some…um, connections."

"What do you mean?"

"He's friends with a couple of guys who happen to be members of a crime family."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but they grew up together. He's not…or at least he wasn't involved with them. Anyway, it was cold outside and he approached me, offered me a drink…"

"He hit on you?"

"No, just gave me a drink and a meal and politely asked me to ply my wares elsewhere."

"So he kicked you out."

"No, even after I finished, we talked. I think he was fascinated by my, I mean Charlotte's line of work. He asked so many questions."

"Like what? I mean, she was supposed to be a hooker, right?"

"I don't think he ever truly bought that I was…damn it, that Charlotte was a hooker. He certainly didn't treat me that way. I began to look forward to going into The Haunt, looking forward to seeing him. It made the rest of the operation bearable, you know?"

Lanie nodded and sipped her wine thoughtfully. "He said he'd loved you…Charlotte. Damn it, we know who we're talking about. I call we can say you, because I don't think it was Charlotte who loved him back."

* * *

Jim turned around from the counter with two coffees, scanned the room for Rick and having found him, swallowed. He looked as if no time had passed at all between that first AA meeting and now. Broken, devastated, forlorn were all words that immediately leapt into mind to describe him.

He slipped into the seat across the booth from Rick who fidgeted. Bouncing his leg or rubbing his hands on his thighs, Jim could see he was only holding it together with mere threads, which appeared to be unraveling. He stared at the table, lost in thought.

Pushing a coffee across the linoleum, he cleared his throat softly.

Rick lifted his head, but it took a moment for his gaze to clear. "Um, thanks," he said quietly, reaching for the cup.

"Do you want to talk?" Jim prodded after several minutes of silence. Jim had taken the time to study his friend. Rick had gawked everywhere but at Jim.

Lifting his eyes, he answered, "No."

About to cajole, Jim was interrupted by "Yes…I don't know. I…You won't believe it. Hell, I don't believe it. God. Have you ever been eviscerated?" Jim raised an eyebrow, but shook no. "Neither have I, but I think this is what it feels like."

"Brian said Charlotte is alive and actually a cop?"

"Yeah," he said bitterly, his voice rising. "Ironic, huh? That I was arrested for killing someone, who didn't actually exist, by her own cop buddies."

An older woman stared at Rick wide eyed. Jim smiled at her to reassure her that Rick was not a psychopath. She gathered her belongings and hurried from the café anyway. Rick remained oblivious, staring into his cup.

"I thought…" Rick began. Jim waited him out. "I just…I mean after everything…" He shook his head and buried his face in his hands.

Jim Beckett recognized the moment. That moment a recovering alcoholic might face when everything is perceived as his fault, that it really didn't matter if he were abstemious or drunk; alive or dead. It usually preceded back tracking or falling off the wagon completely. When circumstances threatened to overwhelm the tenuous thread held onto so desperately. Rick had back slid once since that first meeting. When Rick lost custody of his daughter, Jim had been on a business trip in Europe and had missed his call.

Jim had felt a kindred spirit to Rick since the first time he'd heard his story. His love brutally taken from him, his daughter estranged, although Rick's daughter had only been ten when her mother sued for custody and won even though he'd been sober for over a year at that point and had raised her on his own since his ex-wife had left her with him when Alexis was three. He had convinced Rick to believe that he would eventually reunite with Alexis. He would represent him whenever he gave the word. He never had. Rick hadn't admitted it, but Jim suspected he believed he deserved everything that had happened. It was a self-perpetuating punishment into which it was all too easy to fall.

"Have you seen your therapist lately?"

Rick looked up from his empty coffee cup and gave Jim a sardonic, humorless grin.

"Look," he tried again, "This is a shock. I'd be…honestly, I don't know how I'd react if Jo walked through the door, but you know that booze isn't the answer."

"It wasn't just that she's alive." He stopped and inhaled, tears sprung to his eyes. "God Jim, she's alive." He exhaled and slumped back, letting his head roll on the top of the cushion.

"So that's hope?"

Rick's head snapped up. "No, not at all. She's alive, but it was all fake. She apologized for not being able to tell me the truth? I've thrown away…" he angrily swiped at his eyes. "I've thrown away everything important because of that lie. I'm such an idiot. I wish I never…I just want it buried again. I want her buried again. I want to forget it all again."

* * *

"I was ordered to stay out of the neighborhood, not to contact anyone there."

"Did your captain know you were having an affair with Castle?"

Kate inhaled. "Yes. He said it was good for the cover and gave me permission. It was such a mess, Lanie. They sent me for training during the time I was killed," she made air quotes with her two first fingers of each hand, "they hauled him in for questioning because someone at the bar knew of our relationship. I didn't find out until I came back a few months later. The ongoing operation was given to Montgomery to try to clean up. He kept the Haunt and Rick under surveillance because of his mob associates. I saw that photo during the debrief once the operation concluded."

"Which photo, Sweetie?"

"He's broken, Lanie. It didn't even look like him."

Silence filled the small apartment for a few moments as each woman considered the story. Lanie from the outside, Kate from within.

"The question now is," Lanie began, "Are we going to try to fix it or rebury it, and never think on it again, while you hope you'll never see him again?"

Kate turned the word hope over in her mind. Hope that she'd never see him again? It sounded ridiculous when Lanie had said it out loud. Kate had buried her feelings for long enough, too long, and she never let her thoughts or her feeling stray toward him, but now…now that he knew she was alive she did hope. She hoped for more.


	4. Is Thy Sweet Heart Now Grown So Cold?

**Another Auld Lang Syne**

 **Chapter 4**

 **Is Thy Sweet Heart Now Grown So Cold?**

"Dad?"

Jim looked up into the concerned expression of his daughter. He hadn't seen her enter the diner or come to their table.

"Hi, Sweetheart. I'm sorry," he said as he got to his feet. "I didn't see you come in." He kissed her cheek.

Kate took off her overcoat and tossed it on the bench seat. "Or see me stand next to the table for a full minute. What's up?"

Jim sighed, warring with himself. He never spoke about the people he sponsored, not even in the abstract, but Rick's story and struggle had been weighing heavily on his mind to the point, apparently, of distraction. Maybe just sleep deprivation. After they finish ed their coffee, he had gone to his apartment and stayed up listening to him war with himself, questioning his decisions and berating his weaknesses until Rick had exhausted himself.

He made eye contact with the waitress, who came immediately with a cup of coffee for Kate and a refill of his. He added his usual half a teaspoon of sugar and stirred the black liquid, lost in the swirls of the liquid.

"Dad?"

He jerked his eyes up to hers. "Sorry…sorry."

"Why don't you just talk about what's on your mind. Is it a case? Something personal?" She reached across the well-worn tabletop and covered his hand. She noticed that the skin on the back of his hand seemed thinner. Looking back up at him, she still saw the sharp, bright intelligence she had always admired in her father, albeit wrapped in a tiredness she rarely saw. As a child, she would search his eyes for evidence of that quiet and quick wit oft kept hidden beneath the austerity of his profession. Her mother had reveled in his secreted sense of humor as if she was dancing under a waterfall. He kept his humor held in reserve, but sometimes it would saturate their days like the spring thaw filled gullies and streams.

His eyes held no humor then. They were laced with concern and an ache that she could almost feel in her own bones.

Jim Beckett inhaled and sighed deeply. "It's someone I sponsor."

"The man you were going to see last night?" Kate offered.

Jim raised his eyes. He narrowed his gaze as if cross-examining a witness. "How do you…"

"Just something you said, Dad. I'm a detective, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah and yes; he is the man I saw last night. He underwent a tremendous shock." Jim sighed again.

Kate reached across the table and squeezed her father's forearm. "Dad, you are above reproach when it comes to your discretion." Jim raised his eyebrows. "But, if you need to talk about his situation, I…just…well, just don't use names. I'm a very good listener and I might even be able to help."

Her father, who was not prone to, sighed again. "Maybe it will help." He signaled the waitress for refills of their nearly full cups. The woman raised an eyebrow, but dutifully added a splash. Kate wondered what had her dad so distracted. Jim realized and sheepishly apologized with his eyes and waited until she had left them alone again to begin. He absentmindedly tore a strip from the paper placemat and played with it, rolling, and unrolling it until it curled on its own, a habit he had picked up to keep his fingers busy after he quit smoking before she was born.

* * *

Kate parted from her father in front of the diner and blindly walked down the street. She'd kept her own reactions and emotions carefully bottled up in front of her father. He had definitely seemed lighter than when she first arrived, but she knew that was because she had taken on a part of his burden. She empathized with him as he began his tale, happy that she could provide an ear for him as he had done so many times for her.

She practically jumped at the opportunity to help, maybe not so much to help her father as she purported, as it was to help herself feel better, a chance at redemption from the sins that had revisited and blindsided her the previous day.

In fact, she haughtily basked in the prospect…until she recognized the story. She denied it as mere coincidence at first, but as he continued, she slowly succumbed and the culpability consumed her as readily as a twig in an inferno. The realization doused her like the grimy icy water splashed onto unsuspecting pedestrians by an inconsiderate cabbie. Her father had been speaking about Rick, she had no further doubts. She was the woman who had left him, letting him think she was dead. She was the woman who took his kind heart: the heart that took care of everyone he knew and many he didn't; the heart behind the smile and humor that made you laugh when you wanted to cry; the heart that had loved her. The heart she carelessly discarded along with the torn fishnet stockings and cheap makeup of the assignment.

"Maybe this woman didn't realize," she'd offered weakly as she sat across from her father. She flipped her palm over. "Maybe she just didn't know everything that happened."

"Come on, Katie, you're a cop. Do you just use the people involved in your investigations and then never check on them? Is that what they teach?"

The question wasn't fair. Most of the people in her investigations were dead. "No, of course not…"

"Then she shouldn't have left him either."

"Sometimes, as a cop, you don't have a choice," she ardently contended. "Sometimes, it's for the best; for the greater good. Sometimes it's because you fear for your life or the lives of those on your team."

Jim listened but shook his head. "Any way you slice it honey, Jack wasn't treated right, and he reacted poorly and then you know how the dominoes fall."

To keep his identity safe, they'd agreed to call the man he was sponsoring, 'Jack,' and the woman in his story, 'Carla,' but after a few moments, as Kate put it together, she'd excused herself to the ladies' room.

She stared at her reflection for a long time. The diner's restrooms were as drab and dull as she felt. The worn, outdated fluorescent lights cast a greenish tint to her pallor. She studied the way the light cast shadows and the way it made her hair seem to droop and left it listless and lifeless. The way she'd left him.

She was going to call, she really was, but as time and life rushed forward, the urgent concern faded to a distant ache somewhere behind her sternum. She'd think of him from time to time, assuring herself that he must have surely moved on. What they had was merely a fling: a kind man drawn to the person he thought she was by curiosity and daring and not just a little bit of knight in shining armor syndrome.

Kate washed her face as best she could and rejoined her father. He made a few more arguments and she tried to put herself out of the story, but she failed miserably. He had to know something was wrong with her and after her father stopped talking, he tilted he head assessing her and pursed his lips. After that, the conversation moved from 'Jack" to his law cases to questions about her work and if she had been dating anyone.

Dating anyone? She almost laughed. "No...no one," she said quietly. As she lifted her eyes to her father's assessing gaze, she added, "There's really no time between cases and paperwork..."

"And coming up with excuses," he offered knowingly. Jim assessed his daughter and then shook his head. "Katie, life moves fast."

"I know, Dad," she did not quite whine like her know-it-all sixteen-year-old self, but it was close.

Jim shook his head again. "I know you do, Honey, but there is more to life than your job. Take Carla for instance, if she had just opened her eyes to everything Jack brought her and felt for her, at least two lives could have been immeasurably different."

"You mean Jack's and Carla's? They could have lived happily ever after?"

"No. I mean Jack and his daughter."

"What...he has a daughter?" Kate asked woodenly. She knew Alexis, of course. As a single father, Rick doted on his girl and introduced them after they had been together for a while. She should have realized that he wouldn't have had them meet if he wasn't comfortable doing so; if he wasn't falling for her. It would be too difficult for a child to understand the complicated dance of dating.

Jim stared at his daughter. "Yeah," he sighed again. "He lost custody a couple of years ago. He'd been sober for over a year when his ex decided she needed to be a mom all of a sudden." Shaking his head, he added, "I was out of town."

"So, he's been alone?"

"Yeah. His mom lives in the city but gave up on him. I don't think they're in touch. At any rate, he didn't mention her yesterday."

"That must be hard."

"It's common."

"What is?"

"It's a form of self-punishment. Isolating yourself from the people you've hurt, even if you've already asked their forgiveness." He looked directly at her. "You remember that we didn't really speak for a while even after I sobered up?"

Kate nodded.

"I'm going to check on Jack. Maybe encourage him to call his mom."

"I think that's a good idea, Dad." She inhaled sadly. "He sounds like he could use a friend."

* * *

The snow had just begun to fall. He felt out of place. Almost like he was committing a wrong. If he were honest, he was. No matter how much his mind nagged him to just go home, he waited. Glued to the bench. He just couldn't wait for the weekend today.

Rick warred with himself for the remainder of the sparse minutes until the bell rang. He stood from the bench as the dismissal sounded, hoping to get a glimpse of his daughter. Her hair had always made it easy to pick her from a crowd.

The throng of students gradually cleared, leaving only a few crestfallen stragglers whose rides had been late. As desperately as he tried to snag a peek, he somehow missed his girl. He sighed, sat back down on the bench, and held his head in his hands.

"Dad?"

He raised his head quickly, stood, and spun around. She called to him from a bus window on the other side of the playground fence.

He mustered a smile for her. Just seeing her gave him strength. "Hi Pumpkin. Where are you going?"

"An overnight museum trip," she answered.

"That's so cool!"

"I know. Mommy didn't want to come, but can you?"

His heart seized. No. He wasn't allowed to go. Meredith and the courts made sure that he was never put in a position of any authority over his own daughter. "I'd love to, Pumpkin, but I can't."

This had been a mistake. Confirmed by the expression on her face. Another hope he had dashed. He'd let her down far too much.

"That's okay..." she turned away from the window. "Ms. M. says I have to close the window now. I love you, Dad."

"Oh, I love you, too, Sweetheart. See you soon," he finished as the window slammed shut. He just stood there completely conspicuous and felt wholly exposed as he waited for the bus to pull away. He waved but didn't know if Alexis had seen it or not. His daughter was growing up without him.

He knew and fully accepted that it was entirely his fault, even if Jim had tried to convince him otherwise.

* * *

The elevator doors opened but no one stepped out. Ryan craned his neck and caught a glimpse of Beckett leaning against the back wall.

"Beckett?" he called and she startled, inhaled, and walked off the elevator just before the doors closed.

"You okay, Beckett?" Esposito asked as he and Ryan came to stand in front of her desk.

She still stared, lost in thought. Blinking, she looked up. "Sorry, sorry. I just have a lot on my mind."

"You want to talk about it?"

"No, not really. I'm good, guys." She shook herself free of the cobwebs of her thoughts. "Where are we on..."

"Beckett?" Montgomery called from his office.

Kate raised her eyebrows and walked into her commander and mentor's office.

* * *

"Boss? I figured you were going to take the day."

"Why would I do that, Brian?"

"Well...um...you know..." The bartender jerked his head toward the freezer.

"Look, I'm okay or at least I will be." He sighed, "Just takes time, right? And we're going to be busy: we made the crime news," he said as he plopped the day's paper down on the bar. "I haven't read the whole article yet, just the headline. You know what they say about publicity." He threw Brian a smile he didn't feel as he rounded the bar to take inventory.

Brian picked up the paper. He pointed and said, "Not a bad shot of the exterior." After leafing through a few pages he found the article and read, "The Old Haunt, a Soho pub and eatery with a checkered history added to its notoriety on Thursday when a dead man was found in the freezer. Cause of death was still unknown but…" Brian stopped reading the rest of the article.

"But, what?"

"Oh nothing, it just drones on."

Rick grabbed the paper from his well-meaning employee. "Cause of death was still unknown but most of the patrons know of the bar's ties to the seedier side of Lower Manhattan's underworld. Current owner Richard Castle," Rick paused and shook his head before continuing, "who purportedly has ties to the Cattivi-Ragazzi crime family, was not available for comment, but has been questioned before in suspicion of homicide when one of the bar's regulars, also his girlfriend at the time, was murdered. Jesus."

"I'm sorry, Boss."

"It's nothing. I know I'm on the level and you do, right?" Brian nodded. "Then what does the rest matter?" He threw the towel in the bin and said, "Let's get ready to open."

* * *

"What do you know about Richard Castle?" Montgomery asked without preamble as she sat in the chair across from his desk. Kate felt the icy tendrils grasp her heart as if she had been in the freezer.

"Um…"

The captain held up his hand. "This is the guy, right?" he didn't wait for her answer. "This is the guy that my predecessor, Captain Trudeau, basically used, along with a very green patrol officer, in order to maintain an operation. An operation, I might add, that ultimately failed."

"He's not the vic… he's the owner of the bar."

"Yeah. The one you had a fake relationship with."

"It wasn't…it wasn't fake." Montgomery raised an eyebrow. "Not to him, I mean." Not to herself either, if she was being truthful, but she had justified and explained away her feelings so many times as confused and only doing her job for many years at that point.

"And now?" Montgomery asked in that false nonchalant way of his. He glanced at some papers on his desk to complete the effect.

Kate gripped the arms of her chair. "Now, sir?"

He raised his eyes and suddenly his gaze became very intense, almost intrusive, searching and scanning her. "Do you have feelings now, Detective Beckett?"

"Well," she licked her lips. "…obviously, I feel bad about what happened…how it…what happened to him…after."

"Yes, the investigation – a major cluster fuck, if you ask me."

Kate nodded.

"So, I am going to assume that I don't have to worry about your professionalism." His eyes bored into her. She swore the temperature shot up ten degrees.

"No sir, the job comes first."

Montgomery eyed her for a long moment. Maybe he recalled that his first ever assignment as Captain of the 12th was because someone put the job first and ruined lives. A life. "Where are you on the current investigation?"

Where was she? She was completely unprofessional, that's where. That's what her mind wanted to blurt, but she said, "We're waiting for COD and the ME's report. Neither the owner or the employees recognize the vic."

"It's all over the news. Some hotshot reporter from the Ledger has even mentioned the past investigation and I am here to tell you that as far as the NYPD is concerned, that train wreck will not be commented on or discussed. Clear?"

Kate nodded.

"Good, now solve the case as quickly as possible." She stood and made it as far as the door. "And Kate?" She turned back to face her mentor. "It's not always about the job."

* * *

Kate sat down at her desk. It felt like she hadn't been there in weeks instead of hours. She opened her computer and checked her emails, entirely aware of the glances her team and passersby threw her way. She had bundled her way into a self-made veil of sorts, ignoring the whispers and looks, when she startled because her phone rang.

"Beckett," her voice cracked as if she hadn't spoken in years.

"Are you okay?" Lanie asked. Kate could picture her friend's wide-eyed expression, just from the tone of her voice. An expression laced with concern.

"Yeah, just concentrating."

She said, "Okay," but Kate could tell she wasn't okay – she was worried.

"Really. What did you find?"

"You're not going to like it."

"Seems to be the flavor of the month."

"Our vic is Salvatore Rossi, he had priors in the system. According to his record, he's a member of the Pericolo Family."

"Wait, are you saying this was a mob hit?"

"He had a slug in the middle of his brain, small caliper, but from the lack of blood in the freezer, I'd say he was killed somewhere else and moved there."

* * *

After she had automatically put the information on the murder board, Ryan and Esposito stood at the corner of her desk, waiting for instructions.

"Come on, Beckett, it's the next logical step in the investigation."

Yes, she wanted to scream. She knew what needed to be done, but after learning what had happened to his life … she let the thought drop. She could be professional. She owed that to him. She could show him that not all police investigations could be as messed up as Charlotte's murder had been. She could exonerate him and herself – prove that she could be human.

She turned away from the staring contest with the unyielding board, stopped trying to pressure it into revealing a different path. There were none.

She sighed and looked ta her team. "It will only be for questioning – we're not charging him."

Ryan and Espo exchanged glances and then simultaneously nodded.

Pursing her lips, she ordered, "Go pick him up."


	5. Seas Between Us Broad

**Another Auld Lang Syne**

 **Chapter 5**

 **Seas Between Us Broad**

 _We two have paddled in the stream,_

 _from morning sun till dine;_

 _But seas between us broad have roared_

 _since auld lang syne._

* * *

Rick stared at his knees. The deliberations, feelings, and memories flickered in and out of his thought stream. He was able to catch a glimpse, but not fully discern or grab ahold of any of them. Like fish in a pond. A scummy pond, at that.

He'd been sober for over two years, this time, yet he felt just as jittery, as the days following his first AA meeting. He wiped the imagined sweat from his lip and noticed the one cop watching him from the rear-view.

He barely suppressed an urge to roll his eyes and covered by turning his head to the window.

"Are you okay back there?" That came from the younger one. The guy had his Irish roots all over him.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Weren't you two with Charlie?" He stopped and sighed. "What the hell was her name?"

"You mean Beckett. Yeah," the older, and, in Rick's opinion, the more callous, less compassionate one filled in. "She's our partner."

"All three of you?"

"She's our lead," Irish corrected.

"I didn't know the guy," Rick reiterated as he had done back at his bar. "I still don't understand why..."

"You are a person of interest in the investigation."

"Yeah, because I grew up next to interesting guys."

"Yup."

He blew out a sigh and let his gaze fall on the passing scenery: a blur of streets, shops, and people.

The first time he'd been driven to a police precinct, he wore handcuffs.

* * *

"So, Mr. Castle, where is Charlotte?"

"God, I wish I knew."

He only received the same dull glazed look in the detective's eye and a raised eyebrow in acknowledgment.

"Look, like I've been saying, I love Charlie. I wouldn't ever...I couldn't."

"When was the last time you saw her?" Rick wondered how he could come across as disinterested when he should be interested in finding his girlfriend.

He sighed and answered. "A week ago. She said she had to take care of some things."

"What kind of things?"

"She promised me that she was leaving the life." He rubbed his eyes.

"So, by 'the life' I guess she meant yours?"

"No..."

"That must've made you angry. That cheap whore..."

"No! She didn't and she wasn't," he yelled.

"Got you right where she wanted and then what happened? Did you threaten to stop paying?"

Rick stood, rage oozing from every pore. "You son of a bitch! She wasn't like that! It wasn't…"

"Sit down, Mr. Castle."

He sank back down to the seat and hung his head. "She wasn't like that. She..." He inhaled, either his breath or his heart thrummed a staccato beat in his throat. He sniffed. "She wasn't a prostitute… anymore. She stopped."

"Are you certain?"

"Ya, yes," he stuttered and then remembering the look in her eye, the joy in her expression when she looked at him. He added, more confidently, "Yes."

"Then how do you explain her disappearance? If she was _so_ in love with you, where is she?"

"I...I don't know." He swiped at his eyes again. "I wish I did."

There was a knock on the window and the detective stood and took his folder and left the room.

* * *

Rick looked around. The room hadn't changed much since the first time he was there. He sighed and lowered his head.

Beckett walked into the bullpen and noticed Esposito at his desk. "Hey Espo, where's the guy?"

"Interrogation one," he answered.

She shook her head incredulously and hastily grabbed the case file from her desk. "No, damn it, he's not a suspect."

Esposito made a face. "Beckett..."

"Go get him and bring him to conference room one. Nicely, Esposito," Beckett ordered. She tread wearily into the break room and got two bottles of water.

"Beckett?"

Kate closed her eyes in a brief respite. "Sir?"

"I would never interfere with how one of my detectives runs an investigation," Montgomery began conversationally.

"That's good to hear, sir." She started for the door

"But," he said as he sidled between her and her goal.

"But, sir?" she surrendered.

"But I reread the catastrophe that this ah," he checked his notes, "this Mr. Castle was a part of before." He sighed, remembering his first public relations nightmare. "Tread softly."

"Yes, sir. I have no doubt that Mr. Castle is not involved. It's just his associations. I think someone is sending a message. It may or may not be directed at Mr. Castle."

She waited for a beat before leaving the room. She didn't want the awkwardness that this meeting was destined to be, broadcast to the entire bullpen. She breathed in and out a few times and decided on her frame of mind.

She strode into the conference room. "Mr. Castle..."

"Mr. Castle?" he said, staring at the table. After what seemed a lifetime, he added, "Like you don't know me?"

Kate's face became hot. "I, I'm sorry. I thought it would be best to keep this part of our discussion professional."

Rick looked up at her and stared for a moment and then returned his gaze to the tabletop.

"Look, I know we have...things, history to discuss, but let's just talk about the present first, okay?"

"Could I get a drink?" he asked as if she hadn't spoken.

Kate looked down and realized she still grasped both water bottles. "Oh, yeah. Sorry." She handed it to him and watched as he swallowed, his throat working.

"Okay," she said as she sat across the table from him. "The man found in your freezer was Salvatore Rossi, a member of the Pericolo Family. They have their fingers in a lot of pies in and around Little Italy – the usual: extortion, prostitution, well basically, you name it and they're in it."

Rick sighed. "I don't...didn't know him."

"I didn't think you did, but you do know..." she paused as she consulted her notes, "Matteo De Stefani and Joseph Onio, both well-known associates of Giovanni Pericolo."

Kate raised her eyes and had to admit, he did a good job not rolling his eyes. They were his friends for a good portion of his childhood. He'd gotten into trouble a few times with them as teenagers, but was sent to a boarding school for most of his high school years and had fallen out of touch with them.

"Jesus," he said quietly. "I guess I'll be paying for that horse incident my entire life."

Kate sat back and observed him a moment. "I hope not, but with a mob connection, we have to look at all... relations." She sat forward again. "Have you been in contact with anyone from the Pericolo Family?"

"No," he said as he reached for the water bottle. "Not since the last time I was brought in and accused of murdering someone. That person turned out to not exist." He kept his eyes on hers. "Maybe the guy in the freezer is just playing possum." She had fallen in love with those eyes, the warmth, humor, and intelligence, but in that room, they were as hard and cold as stone.

Kate swallowed, but her throat was dry. She took a drink and as she put the bottle down, she whispered, "I was sorry to learn about Alexis."

He dragged a hand down his face. "Yeah, well, she's better off."

"No, I'll never believe that. You are such a good fath..."

"You have no...", he raised his voice but stopped, inhaling and exhaling. He swallowed and continued in a normal tone, albeit laced with bitterness. "Look, Detective, you can't honestly say how I am or what I've done recently. Let's keep this professional as you said."

"I'm sorry."

He sighed.

"Um, I think that's all I need from you today. Will you let us know if you hear anything from any members or associates of Matteo..."

"Matty and Joey. Yeah." He pushed himself back and up from the table.

"Please don't contact them regarding this investigation." She stood as well and extended her hand. "Thank you for your cooperation."

He looked at her hand and then up into her eyes. "Jesus," he sighed, "can I go?"

"Um…I'd like to talk to you." She withdrew her hand and rubbed it down her thigh.

"What have we been doing?"

"Not, no, not here, not about the case. I want to…." She let her hand drop. "What did she want?" she thought. He wasn't making it easy and she really couldn't blame him. "Maybe we could talk and clear the air?"

"Charlie, would you have sought me out if a guy didn't die at the Haunt?"

"It's Kate. And I was ordered…"

"Ordered?"

"I was not supposed to make contact."

"I don't…" he began, but then just stared as he worked his jaw. "Look, I lost a lot after the last time I saw you. I don't have anything left. Just…please…please just leave me alone."

* * *

"Hello?"

"Martha, it's Jim, Jim Beckett."

Martha inhaled. The only time she heard from Jim Beckett was when her son was in trouble. It was an unorthodox arrangement. Richard, after the first time he had sobered up, had insisted that Jim and Martha meet. Both were, in a way, his safety nets – at least until Martha had had enough. She hadn't spoken to Richard since that horrible day after the courthouse when he lost his daughter, she found him passed out. She thought he was dead. Martha just couldn't ride the roller coaster any longer and even though it broke her heart, she cut off any contact.

"Oh, dear God..." she sank onto her chair.

"No, he's okay...well, he's not okay, but he hasn't had a drink."

"That's good," she answered relieved, but coldly.

"He is having a hard time and I thought if maybe you could make a way to see..."

"I can't, Jim. I just…I can't watch him kill himself."

"He's much stronger than he was."

Martha shook her head.

Jim continued, "Charlie is alive."

"What?"

"Well, she is a cop." Jim sat back down at his kitchen table as he explained the whole situation.

* * *

"And do you think that was the answer?"

"I was making progress before all this happened. I think the best thing for everyone is that she goes back to being dead and I continue my life."

The doctor sat back, steepled his fingers under his chin and stared at Rick. Rick hated this part of the session. The part where he felt he had figured something out only to have Dr. Murphy show him how he was wrong.

"Do you love her?"

"What?" he scoffed. "No…I mean, no. No. How could I possibly?"

Murphy tilted his head. "You loved her…still, when she was dead. That hasn't changed, has it?"

Rick swallowed. It was only a couple of months ago, at his last appointment, that he confessed that and that moving forward was pointless, even though she'd been dead for years. He would never get over her.

Of course, Murphy would remember his impassioned and somewhat dramatic speech in which he martyred his future for a past he could no longer have.

Rick lowered his gaze.

"Rick?"

"I…" he stood and paced to the window. He let his head drop. "I don't know. I don't know how to deal with…well, that's why I'm here, right?"

* * *

"Mr. Castle?" the receptionist asked. Rick stood and approached her desk. "The doctor is running a little over. Do you mind waiting a few more minutes?"

Two years ago, Moses Murphy sat at his desk reading a court file. Richard Castle was an alcoholic and had lost custody of his daughter. These cases, where his patient had been ordered to see him, were tough. Most of his patients had done a lot of bargaining, soul-searching, and realization before they asked for help. Court-ordered patients skipped all the deliberation and had to come. That was tough, because not only did Moses have to help them, but he had to get through defenses first. He sighed and got out a new pad and hoped for a good session but prepared for a fight.

"I really don't have a choice," he snapped but instantly regretted his tone. "I'm sorry. No, I don't mind." He retreated to the couch. His hostility toward everyone and their mother is why he was here in the first place. The court had ordered psychiatric counseling after his outburst during the custody hearing.

"You can go in now," the receptionist said politely as if he hadn't been a horrible human being a few minutes ago.

"I really am sorry for earlier," he mumbled on his way to the door. She smiled and nodded in acknowledgment.

A tall African American man met him at the inner door. He had an understanding face at least three inches higher off the ground from Rick's. "Mr. Castle?" The imposing man held out his hand. "I'm Moses Murphy."

Rick gripped his hand. "Richard Castle...um Rick."

The doctor indicated the seating area, a choice between a couch and two armchairs. Rick chose an armchair and the doctor grabbed a pad, pen, and file from his desk and sat in the opposite chair. "So, Rick, tell me why you're here."

"I was ordered to be here."

"I know, but you acquiesced to the order rather quickly, without a fight. That tells me that you may think, down deep that this time here may be beneficial." He kept his steady, deep brown eyes on Rick's. His voice soothed.

Rick inhaled. He remained silent for a few minutes and Moses felt he had once again been mistaken.

"Yeah. Something...I have to do something."

The doctor flipped open the file and read, although Rick got the impression that he was just refreshing what he already knew.

"Now, you're here, legally, because a judge mandated it."

"Yes."

"But why are _you_ here?"

"Because the court..."

"No Rick, why do you want this therapy?" He narrowed his eyes at Castle and Rick felt immediately exposed.

"I'm..." he paused and swallowed, dropping his gaze to the carpet under the doctor's feet. "I'm a mess. I drink and I just lost..." his voice disappeared. He hadn't yet said it aloud – that he lost his daughter, that his inability to get himself together resulted in losing the only other thing he truly loved. "I can't keep living in this grief. It's destroying everything."

"I think I can help you," Murphy said softly.

* * *

"I must say, and I'm not complaining, but twice in one week? I might be getting spoiled," her dad said as he rose from their booth to greet her with a hug and kiss. Truth be told, they were comfortable with their once a week dates. They both led busy lives but had made the time for their little family to be together.

"I know…I just…"

"Katie?"

"Have you ever just needed to be grounded?"

Jim raised an eyebrow.

Her lips quirked upwards. Of course, they had had their share of that kind of groundings – she knew, she had been a horrendous teen. She shook her head. "I mean, you just need to latch onto something solid, something…someone steady – that you can count on." She kept her eyes on the paper napkin as she nervously shredded the corner.

Jim inhaled and worked to clear his throat. His heart had jumped there. It had been a long road. He had always been someone she could turn to, even when Katie had been at odds with her mother - until she couldn't. During his addiction. He had come to terms with how he had left her on her own to tend to himself. There was nothing he could change, except how he was there for her now and in the future. To have her call him her solid place – it blew him away. He had worked hard for many years to be worthy of and to be competent enough to claim to be that stalwart in her life. He blinked back tears.

Kate raised her eyes when her father remained silent and noticed the emotions on his face. "Oh, Dad! I'm sorry. What…are you okay?"

"No, no, no. Katie, I'm fine. I'm happy to be whatever you need."

The waitress set glasses of waters and cups of coffee down. Kate lifted her gaze and smiled her thanks. They placed their orders and sat in silence, sipping their drinks. Jim figured his daughter would speak about her problem when she was ready. He was euphoric: like he had been reborn as her dad. They had been working back from all the years of hurt and neglect he had caused since he became sober and for the first time, he truly felt they'd reached the pinnacle.


End file.
